The Avengers: Enter Prince Ben!
by He Who See's
Summary: In an AU, Ben decided to use Dagon's power to conquer his Universe and bring all life in it to his will. Years later, one of his sons, Prince Ben Junior, is contacted by a mysterious stranger who offers to send him to a new Universe, the home one Earth's Mightiest Heroes! Can the Avengers tackle their biggest challenge yet? Can they best a ten year old brat? Tune it to find out!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Atop his command seat, deep within the bowels of his personal "Throne Ship" that maintained high orbit over the capital world of the Universe (a previously insignificant, backwater level two blue-world called earth), Prince Benjamin Tennyson the second, as he preferred to be called (anyone daring to call him 'junior' aside from his family usually winding up with a sentence in the Null Void or an execution sentence if they were lucky), was busy resting his head on his fists in boredom, as per usual.

Two earth decades ago, his father, from whom he was named after, had managed to wield the power of an unbelievably powerful cosmic and demonic entity in the palm of his hands. Back then, he was just 15. Back then, he was known as the world's AND the Universe's greatest hero. A paragon of virtue that, when the chips were down and the odds looked bleak, always managed to pull through in the end and allow goodness and decency to prevail.

But in that moment, wielding power that could tear the entire Universe asunder if he so wished, something inside him changed, or was unburied depending on your point of view. Something Vilgax, his oldest and most hated of villains had said to him just made...sense. Despite the fact that he wasn't Ben's favorite person in any of the dimensional realms he had been to...what he said ringed true in his mind. And despite the protests of his cousin Gwen, his best friend Kevin, and his 'then' girlfriend Julie, he proceeded to do just what his arch nemesis had suggested.

However...he didn't just stop at earth. Oh no. He didn't stop until the entirety of the Universe was rid of evil and accepted him as its rightful lord and master. Soon, any and all of those who would oppose him either bowed before him or suffered punishments he felt befitted their...transgressions.

And so, since then, the Universe had become one of peace and order under his benevolent rule. He eventually married Julie and together, the pair had ten sons (of which, Ben Junior was the youngest) that were groomed, practically from birth, to be strong and capable rulers (with varying levels of success, of course). Recently though, something had changed.

His father the five oldest of his brothers started appearing less and less in their respective courts. Rumors began flying about that claimed that they had been abducted and replaced by agents of some of his detractors who had managed to somehow escape his many purges. Though the Prince personally saw to the punishments and demotions of anyone who dared to incite the populace with such drivel...he admitted that his own curiosity was piqued, made no better by the fact that he was a VERY spoiled rich kid.

So, one earth cycle, he decided to pay the Supreme City of Bellewood and the Imperial Palace therein ask his regal father what the big deal was. Imagine his surprise when he found out that his often missing father and brothers had taken multiple sabbaticals to various OTHER Universes for the express purposes of fun, recreation, and to gather intel for when they eventually started their latest top secret project: "Operation Omniverse." Imagine the childlike glee etched onto his face at the thought of beating the crud out of whole new aliens and monsters on whole new worlds with the shear awesome power him, half of his siblings, and their illustrious father possessed together.

So, you easily imagine how he felt when he was told that he was "too young," "too inexperienced," and still "too much of a little twerp" (that last one coming from his brother Kevin who probably got it from their Uncle Kevin. Considering how they tended to act towards him however, he used the term "brother" and "Uncle" when referring to them VERY loosely, usually replacing them with much stronger and vulgar words he had picked up). After being denied, he did what any ten year old worth his salt would do when one of his parents denied him something he really, REALLY wanted: went behind this parent's back by asking the other one.

When his mother told him 'no', he stormed off as petulantly angry as he could (which turned out to be rather pouty in a humorous way, if the way the court attendees, palace guards, and even Julie herself were trying to hold back barely contained giggles was any indication) and teleported himself back onto the bridge of his Throne Ship, the B.T.S. _"Runt of the Litter"_ (guess which Dynamic Duo with the same first names christened that particular ship when he was three?) where he proceeded to do something his father was also good at doing at that age. Using his Omnitrix to take out his aggression on robots.

Though this helped alleviate his anger somewhat. there was just something about maiming and mutilating machines that, while fun, wasn't quite the stress reliever doing the same to living beings was.

And so, there he sat on his little throne in his personal ship, busy resting his head on his fists in boredom, as per usual, trying to decide if he could manage to sneak off to the homeworld of the Petro Sapiens and get some of the warriors stationed there to fight him, and whether or not he was prepared to deal with the consequences his elders were going to saddle him with if they found out. It was around that time that a loud and noticeable rumbling in his stomach came, bringing with it the sense of emptiness that signified huner.

Pressing a button on the gauntlet on his right wrist, Prince Ben called his Royal Attendant.

"Hey Animo! I'm feeling famished over here! Make me some jellyfish gumbo would ya!?" He barked out indignantly.

He waited a few seconds for the bumbling scientist to respond in his typical lick-boot fashion, but found himself growing more and more impatient as more and more time ticked by.

"Hey! Did you go deaf again feeding the howler monkeys!? I said I want some grub here!"

After another few seconds of receiving nothing but static in return, Prince Ben put a finger to his chin in thought, staring at the ceiling. "Hrmmm...maybe this stupid thing is busted again..."

Suddenly, a deep booming voice spoke, seeming to shake the entire ship itself with each word. _**"I'm afraid not Mr. Tennyson, though that was a very educated guess that most people, even adults, would make, so kudos." **_

The Prince's eyes widened in shock (and fear, though he'd never admit it to anyone) and he looked towards the bridge crew, specifically, a large and tall Vilgaxian with significant cybernetic enhancements in his early teens.

"Captain Cyber!" He shouted out. "We have an intruder aboard the ship!"

The Captain however, didn't respond to this yell from his sovereign. In fact, he didn't seem to be moving at all. After a few more moments of observation, Prince Ben found out, much to his further horror, that the bridge crew wasn't the least bit animated either. Everyone, save him, appeared to be frozen in ti-

"Awww crud." The Prince squeaked out in an undignified manner he just knew his family would tease him about if they ever saw it. Quickly, he leapt off of his throne and onto his feet, pressing the Imperial Symbol (which, once upon a time, was the intergalactic symbol for peace and of the old institution of plumbers) on the chest area of his royal black and white regalia. The seemingly flimsy cloth that comprised his robes suddenly hardened, forming into armored suit not like those worn by the knights of old (or the forever knights) that was as tough and as durable as the strongest metal in the Universe, Taydenite, that amplified his strength by a factor of ten (though at times like this, he wished it was amplified by a much higher product of ten, like the armor his brothers and fathers had).

The most unique things about the armor though, was that when it activated, it managed to unlock the hidden potential of his Annadite heritage buried inside of his DNA. Though he could already do this himself to some degree, the suit managed to increase his power and skill with mana to a degree that he was now more or less equal with his Aunt Gwen when she was sixteen.

Even with all of the advantages the armor provided him with though, and the fact that he was highly proficient in combat with it, his parents STILL wouldn't give him a plasma beam saber to sword fight with for his birthday OR Christmas! Always something about "you'll poke your eye out kid!"

Oh yeah! And he doubted that, if the intruder was who he thought he was, he'd be able to take him...even with a plasma beam saber.

Still, he took a fighting stance, his eyes and clenched fists glowing with white hot energy with black speckles here and there.

"Show yourself time-walker! I know not what dark machinations you have for me and my empire, but I can assure you that I will put an end to them!" He said in his most regal of voices, not managing to betray a single ounce of fear and unease he was feeling at the moment.

In response, the voice gave a snort. It sounded like it was...'amused'.

"Once again, you have managed to make an informed deduction well beyond what is typical of the average human your age. Bravo Mr. Tennyson." It said before Ben heard a trio of drawn out claps. "However, much like last time, I regret to inform you that your assumption about my identity being that of Professor Paradox is incorrect."

Suddenly, off to his left side, the Prince saw a shimmering blue portal appear and deposit something before blinking out of existence. Said something was a human male, middle-aged. clad in a black white business attire and dark sunglasses with an old, primitive ear-piece sticking out from the left side of his head, the wire disappearing into his coat.

"Besides, if I was him, don't you think a better stratagem would be to go back to the moment your father seized control of Dagon's power and stop him or, better yet, prevent him from being born altogether?"

Instead of responding verbally (despite the fact that he REALLY wanted to) the Prince opted to send a rather large torrent of energy from his fists at the guy. He had learned that, in a fight, it was usually best to cut the chatter and land the first strike. Though, because of his power and the usual stock of his opponents, he often found himself bragging and gloating like he was, well, the Prince of the Universe, against something that could manipulate time with apparent ease, he decided it was best to adopt a policy of pragmatism instead of his usual dramatic style. For now anyways.

However, as the two streams of power continued to collide with their target, it became increasingly obvious to him that he was harming him about as much as Ditto could Way Big. I.E., not at all. Heck, the most it seemed to do was cause him to raise an eyebrow. Eventually, he tired of maintaining such an intense output and fell to his knees, trying, but failing, to not begin panting.

"Finished?" Came the man's one word response. When the Prince's reply was to shoot him a glare, still panting, the man gave another, similar reply. "Good."

With inhuman speed, he rushed forward and gave the Prince a rather forceful shove to the chest with one of his palms, knocking him into his throne. Though his armor protected the rest of his of body, the back of his head collided with the back of the seat and caused his vision to go blurry. "Take a seat." The man continued, Ben rubbing the back of his head to help clear his vision and finding that, at least, the attack didn't draw blood.

His sight more or less normal, Ben sent another, much more deadly glare towards the man and snarled out a challenge. "Make me creep!"

As soon as he tried to get up and throw an awesome haymaker to the man's face that his friends would route for though,the man rushed forward and pushed him back into the seat again, much more forcefully. "I said: take a seat."

Now getting angry as well as annoyed, the Prince made a move for his omnitrix so that he could make this insolent timewalker who DARED to treat him like a child (something he got enough of from his folks) feel what it felt like to 'take a seat'. However, as the fingers of his right hand were within a hair's width of the black and green dial, he suddenly found himself unable to move it further, despite his efforts. In fact, he found himself unable to move ANY part of his body, save his eyes. Eyes that were moving about frantically in his skull as his mind tried to come to the conclusion of what exactly was occurring. A conclusion he reached when he found himself lifted into the air by some unseen force and rather unceremoniously dropped back into his seat.

"_Great. This guy's telekinetic." _He thought, fixing black and white crown on his head.

"_Why yes. Yes I am." _The voice of the man said, inside his mind.

The Prince blinked Owlishly. _"Aaaaaand he's telepathic enough to bypass all of the mental defenses guarding my psyche and read my mind without permission." _He continued to think, _"Well this day just keeps getting better and better."_

"I take it then that you're thoroughly convinced that if I desired to harm you, _truly _harm you, that I would have done so already in any number of ways?"

Prince Ben narrowed his eyes on the man for several tense seconds before taking on a more neutral look and shrugging.

"Eh. I guess. It's not like I could reach my Omnitrix in time to transform before you stopped me with your mind if you did come here to hurt me, and my natural Anodite talents didn't seem to be doing squat, so, why not?" He asked, throwing his hands up into the air half-heartedly before holding his head with a palm and looking every bit as melancholy as he did earlier. "So, what are you here then timewalker? Come to whisk me away on a Universe saving adventure like that wretch Paradox used to do to my father because I'm the only one of my bloodline available to you at the present?"

Blowing away a lock of disheveled hair that had obscured his vision, the Prince continued before the man could speak again. "Because, if that be the case, might I suggest the four of my brothers still in this dimension? Or my Aunt and Uncle? Or my cousins? Or even my own mother? Better yet, why don't you manage to track down the five of my siblings off having epic adventures worthy of song in every language in every Universe has 'has', 'is', and 'will' be with dad!?" He said with all of the venom he could muster (which turned out to be quite a lot). "I bet you half my Empire that anyone of them isn't "too young", "too inexperienced", or "too much of a little twerp" like yours truly for such a task!"

His little temper tantrum over, Ben crossed his arms over his chest, snorted derisively, and pouted his lip in a way that he was certain would show how angry he was, but just ended up making him look unintentionally adorable.

The man's face though, remained as impassive as stone.

"As interesting as such a development would no doubt be, that is not what I am here. Though I will admit that the real reason is not too far off."

After a few seconds of tense silence, the Prince quirked an eyebrow. "Well...go on then! Don't let me stop you, not I could either way..." He trailed off.

The man took off his sunglasses and began wiping the interior of the lenses with a handkerchief from his breast pocket. As he did, the Prince took stock of his eyes. Oh they seemed to be a typical and uninspiring blue, but if one were to stare long enough (which he did), they would notice that green...symbols of some sort flashed across them, seemingly at random.

"_Ooookay...someone just took a few leaps in the creepy department..."_

Slapping himself in the face (literally this time) for thinking that when their was such a powerful telepath in his midst who was probably actively keeping tabs on his mind just in case he tried something, the Prince hoped that the man was the merciful sort, or at least, patient enough that he would let that comment slide. After all, he was probably used to that by now. Heck, with his powers and abilities, he probably had already been called a freak a LONG time ag-

"_Stupid brain! Quite thinking! If what half of big brother Lenny says is true, it shouldn't be that hard for you!" _He inwardly berated himself, punctuating his frustration with another slap to the face.

The man, to his credit, only broke the stoic and unmoving look on his face to raise a single, questioning brow before it reset to its default impassiveness.

"I shall be frank with your Mr. Tennyson." Began the man, pocketing his glasses away in his pants. "I came here to offer you a deal. One that I have no doubt that you will find to be challenging and difficult to fulfill your own end of it, and whose consequences for failure you'll find to be most...'unpleasant'. I give you this warning now as a courtesy and strongly suggest that you keep it in mind when I impart the following information upon you and when the time comes for you to make your final decision. Do you understand?"

Ben merely waved him off. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Just get on with your stupid offer already! I have jellyfish gumbo to eat here ya know!"

The man sucked in a breath of air. "Very well then. My name is Smith. Agent Smith."

Ben's eyes widened at this and he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the "agent". "Before you ask, no. I'm not the same agent from that parallel Universe where Nanites have gone rampant on earth and created that "Rex" fellow that your father once teamed up with. That man's name was _Six_. Though...I am informed that both of them were destroyed along with an island formerly inhabited by the other agent's martial arts master by your father and your brothers."

The Prince merely shrugged at this. "Eh, stuff happens." He said, before another epiphany struck him. "Wait, how did you-"

"-let's just say that it is my business to know such things. Much like it is my business today to offer you the chance to prove to your father that you are indeed good enough to join in on his venture, and, to to do so in a way that you will undoubtedly find most enjoyable."

"Wait..." Began Ben skeptically. "You're not saying-"

"Yes. I can offer the opportunity to travel to a new Universe. One that none of your family members, even your father, is aware of. One that you have a decent enough chance of conquering."

If the Prince's eyes had grown any wider at this, they probably would have fallen out of their sockets. Here it was! What he had wanted ever since he was told off earlier that day! To show that he was ready to face off against the kind of challenges his elders could so that he could fight by their side. With all of the force of his will, he fought off the urge to pump both of his righteous fists into the air and shout out a "yeah" or an "awesome" and regained his composure and his skepticism.

"Really?" He asked in a disbelieving tone. "How and what's the catch?"

"Simple. If you agree, I will open up a transdimensional rift a few kilometers from the bow of the "Runt of the Litter" that will allow the passage of this vessel and a full squadron of Imperial ships to the other Universe before being sealed off." He said, as if doing so really was that simple, "The catches are that the other end of the rift will deposit you and your forces over a planet in that Universe's Milky Way that is not its version of earth, you will be given a total of one earth year to complete your conquest of the galaxy, and that, should you fail, you forfeit not only your life, but your very soul to be used by my...employer, in whatever way he see's fit."

The Prince sighed and shook his head. _"There's always a downside to everything."_

In this case, said downside was a doozy. Those other two weren't so bad, as the standard Hyper-Drives for any given Imperial ship could cross intergalactic distances in second and he was extremely confident in his ability to subjugate this new Milky Way well within the allotted time frame (despite the agent's previous warning), but still. The penalty for failure was rather...severe. But then again, aside for waiting for several years, how else was he to show his mettle. But if he failed...he wouldn't even have any mettle to test. Then again, if he truly was _so _confident that he could take over this galaxy, why was he spending so much time worrying about the consequences in his rather unlikely defeat? But-

"_Uhhh..." _Ben said, massaging his aching cranium while his indecision buffeted him as though he were an unshielded ship in an asteroid belt, beads of sweat starting to flow from his forehead.

"To help your decision making process, I am prepared to give you a preview of this other Earth. A short forty-eight hour trip so you can acquire a better picture as to its nature, and that of the Universe it resides in. Here's the contract for that."

From another, smaller blue rift not unlike the one he had first appeared through, Agent Smith pulled forth what, at first glance, seemed like a typical, if primitive, paper contract that looked like something in the driest portions of a museum (the most exciting and riveting portions to him, of course, being the parts dedicated to wars). But, just like with his eyes, if one were to do a double take, they'd find a most...unusual quality about it. Mainly that it had faint, orange-yellow glow.

"_Ominous."_

After snatching it greedily (and rather rudely) from the man's hand, his eyes began to quickly scan over the document. In essence, it confirmed what Smith had told him and further went on to say that, if he decided not to invade after this "trial run", he was not obligated to sign the contract for the "full deal", as the earlier proposal was called. He admitted that it seemed like a much more tempting offer than that one right now...Add in the fact that, should his life become seriously threatened, he would be warped back to the bridge of his ship, and his decision came not long after.

"How do I sign-up?" He asked.

"Merely think of your signature, and it should appear on the document."

Staring intently at the bottom line on the paper, caused his signature to appear in green ink stroke by stroke, as though someone was actually writing it down. Seconds later, the document began glowing brighter before blinking away from existence.

"Thank you Mr. Tennyson. We shall head for the other earth at once."

Suddenly, Agent Smith disappeared inside another rift and, not long after, Prince Benjamin the Second's world became a deep shade of cyan.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

**Universe-?** / **Earth-?** _/_ **New York City** _/ _**Central Park.**

Like on any given Saturday morning, a large event was currently taking place in the Big Apple's most famous of parks. Today, to break in the new baseball field he had built, Tony Stark was hosting a little league game between children of soldiers deployed overseas. A nice, genuine sentiment.

But of course, being himself, Tony had done something _special _for this event. It wasn't some big fancy speech (though he did manage to write more of it down than Pepper this time). It wasn't that he had come in his Iron Man armor (though lord knows how many of the kids were disappointed by this). Heck, it wasn't even the shear surprise that he, absent-minded genius that he was, had remembered a charity event that _he _had made plans for (though Pepper, Happy, and anyone else who knew him personally were certainly stunned).

Rather, it was _who _Tony had managed to get as the umpire of this game when the original had bailed out of because of the flu. None other than the star-spangled man himself, Captain America.

To make things even better, he had called the captain to the park on his Avengers ID card, sounding as though he was in deep trouble. As it turned out, the only one who would be in anything would be the cap if he denied all of the awestruck and excited children the chance to play in a game involving him, even if his position didn't allow them to play against him (or perhaps, _because _his position didn't allow them to play against him). Well...Tony too of course. He planned on giving him a _very _stern talking-to for the stunt he just pulled.

If Tony had just calmly contacted him and told him that he needed him to fill-in for this game, or better yet, asked _ahead _of time he he'd be willing to be the umpire for this game on the off chance the original one couldn't show up, he would have _willingly _and _gladly _set some time out of his patrol time aside to make it. But, because Tony got caught in the heat of the moment and, ever the effective communicator, made it sound like the Masters of Evil were attacking...well, let's just say that he had a little chat with the golden avenger before the game had begun that brought to mind the story about the little boy that cried wolf.

He put these thoughts aside however as he focused on what was important in the here and now. The bases were loaded. Both Charlie and Delta teams had managed to tie in the ninth inning, entering overtime, and now the former was ahead by four runs. If Delta team could just get in four on their own runs before the time ran out, then at least they could leave this game knowing they matched Charlie play for play.

The problem for Delta was that their hopes of making it out even with the other team rested entirely on the shoulders of little Manuel Chavez Junior, who had proven to be their weakest batter throughout the game.

Now, this didn't mean he was a bad player. The kid could field, pitch, and catch with the rest of his peers and, in the case of pitching, was one of the better ones on his team. But, for some unknown reason, when he stepped up to home plate with a bat in his hand...well...let's just say that the words "strike," "out," and "like a helicopter" wouldn't exactly be wrong to use. More than once, the captain found himself barely dodging out of the way of one of those wild swings and, despite himself, he chuckled at the memory of Manuel once letting go of the bat and almost hitting Tony all the way in the stands.

Throughout the game, he had tried to give him pointers to improve his average...but he didn't seem to be taking to the advice well. Something that was painfully obvious in the way he was shaking, sweating, and taking a puff from his inhaler as he exited the bleachers to bat now.

As anticipated, he struck out twice, somehow managing to come closer to decapitating the Captain than all of the various scraps he'd been in, _both _instances. Before he could a third time however, the captain said, calmly, "Take it easy Manuel. _Breathe_. It's only a game."

"I-I-I can't cap. I just can't!" he said. "Ever since everyone learned Iron Man was coming to the game, we've been training one-hundred and ten percent for this game! And when we saw you were gonna be umpiring, we started playin' a hundred and twenty! There ain't none of us here that want to lose and let you down Cap, but that's exactly what's about to happen man! I know it..." he finished, hanging his head down in shame,

The captain looked taken aback by this admission, before he placed a friendly hand on Manuel's shoulder. "It's alright son. Know that whether you lose or manage to tie, Iron Man and I won't think any less of you _or_ your team. All I ask is that all of you give your best, and from what I've seen today, well...let's just say that most Major League games I've seen in this century haven't been so intense."

Sensing the genuine truth radiating from these words (except for maybe the bit about Tony, but hey, he had something like that coming), Manuel turned back to face the pitcher with a steely resolve that he had not displayed before when playing in the position, taking another puff of his inhaler. His stance became steadier and more relaxed. His grip on the bat became firmer, but not too much so. As the pitcher reared her throwing arm back, his eyes narrowed, and he took in a deep breath.

Time seemed to slow itself down as he took his swing, connecting with the ball in such a way that it did something that hadn't happened in the game as of yet, and that no one was expecting, _especially_ coming from a batter like Manuel. It flew. It flew high above the trees and disappeared somewhere into the park. Despite how unlikely it would be, two of Charlie team's outfielders ran as fast as their legs could carry them toward the ball on instinct.

Meanwhile, the assembled crowd in the stands as well as the players and their coaches looked on in stunned silence. Manuel himself had his mouth agape, and was rubbing his eyes to make sure that he had seen what he had just done correctly. The Captain's voice put an end to any doubts he had.

"I know that things have changed a lot since my day, but I think a hit like that means you should start running." he said, with a smile.

Not needing to be told twice, Manuel's eyes widened with realization, and he made dash for first base despite how unnecessary such movement was.

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In three seconds, if the Prince's approximation proved true (which he knew it did), he and the agent reappeared in a landscape that reminded him of the Imperial gardens. Except on the planet's surface instead of ten thousand stories in the air. With only flora and fauna native to earth. Surrounded by primitive concrete and steel structures. And filled with only a human population that appeared to be here for recreation instead of tending to the grounds. It seemed...pleasant. In that quaint way those old photographs of such places circa the era before the Tennyson's rise to power seemed. Ironically enough, this was probably a place he had seen in such old pictures. A name he vaguely recalled sprung to mind. Middle...Woods was it?

He was about to ask Smith that question when he noticed something...off about the park. Something that didn't have anything to do with the previous things he had thought about. Namely that everything, the people, the squirrels, the trees, the dogs mid-way in trying to catch a Frisbee, the falling leaves, appeared to be...frozen. It was as though the very concept of motion had up and left this world like his father did when Great Grandpa Max came over with his delectable cooking.

Looking around for any sign of movement, the Prince asked, "I take it that you've either slowed down the rest of time save for us or sped it up around us?" He inquired.

"Correct Mr. Tennyson." said the man, his unspecific affirmation slightly irking Ben. "We are currently in Central Park of this world's version of New York City. Know that we have only moved through space, rendering this time period, the year 2012 of this earth's history, parallel to the period of your own Universe that we just left."

Though the Prince probably should have been focused on the fact that it was the year 2032 on his earth and yet, at the exact same time, it was the year 2012 on _this _earth (and was, somewhat) he was more focused on mentally snapping his fingers in recognition. _"Central Park! Of course! That's what that name was..."_

Moving on, he then asked a question that had sprung to mind. "Why here specifically?"

"Because this city on this earth is a magnet for the odd and unusual on a similar scale to Bellwood in your father's youth." Smith said, the Prince remembering all of the crazy stories he had been told about the capital in those days and whistling as he got the picture. "Furthermore, it is home to this world's greatest team of champions, whose residence is located not far from here. If you wish to pick a fight with them immediately, I suggest causing a scene and letting them come to you."

Ben was about to ask if that was all of the information the time walker would give him when he heard the word, _"Yes," _enter his mind in the agent's voice. Suddenly, another rift opened up next to them, and Smith slowly made his way towards it. "Remember Mr. Tennyson. You have a limited amount of time before your trial run expires. I suggest you spend it wisely."

The agent entered the rift, which disappeared milliseconds after he had entered. Slowly, time began to speed up to its normal pace, (or the time around him was slowing down. He wasn't sure, and Smith's answer didn't help) along with all of the people, squirrels, the dogs mid-way in trying to catch a Frisbee, the trees, and the falling leaves. Some of these things even stopped to look at, what he was certain, was his sudden appearance into their world. Or perhaps it was the fact that he was clad from the neck down in armor that clashed rather poorly with their own garb. Or both.

He ignored these stares however as he put a gauntleted hand to his chin and leaned against a nearby tree. Those last words the agent had imparted upon him rang throughout his mind. Just what _would _be a way of spending the time he had wisely?

Clashing with the defenders of this world seemed to be the most promising thought that came to mind, but then again, since when was it the strategic and tactical option to barrel through a situation with as little information as he had (his and his family's history of doing this with moderate success not withstanding)? Then again, what good was reconnaissance when he had such little time and patience to spare, both of which could be put to more fun and enjoyable use if he just went with the direct approach, assuming of course that the _"Champions" _of this world were enough for him to handle, which he wouldn't know _unless _he decided to do reconnaissance…

As the same indecision that brought him to this place racked his brain again, he noticed a series of small impacts on the ground in front of him. Looking down, he noticed a small, round, white object with what looked to be two knots moving parallel to each other and around said object. He recognized it immediately, for even in his father's empire, baseball was still a popular sport. Though, he admitted, its modern incarnation was vastly superior to the older ones thanks to the addition of powered armor and alien species.

Picking it up, he casually began to toss it into the air before catching it as he struggled to make up his mind. That was when he heard a voice cry out, "Hey kid!"

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Wayne McDuffie and Lloyd Kirkland were running towards the middle of Central Park with all of the energy in their bodies, trying to catch a ball that, for all intents and purposes, no normal human being could possibly hope to catch before it hit the ground at this point. The training they had adopted was such that they would follow that ball into the reaches of Niflheim and back.

Well…maybe not _that _far, but certainly more than the other outfielders of their team would have gone for a task that seemed so pointless.

As they continued running, their bodies slowing while their minds fast approached this same conclusion, Wayne was the first to speak.

"Hey Lloyd?" He asked, in between pants.

"Yeah Wayne?" Respond Lloyd, also in between pants.

"Why'd we decide to go after this ball again? I mean you know it's probably touched the ground like, twenty times over by now, right?"

"Heh." Said Lloyd with a smile. "I dunno man. Probably cuz Iron Man and the cap were watchin'. I bet they'd try and catch it, even if it looked like it was headin' for the moon."

"Yeah but, don't one of those guys have super armor and the other one's a super-soldier that fought in World War II?" Said Wayne, sweating something fierce and struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Heh, can't argue with that." Said Lloyd, looking just as worse for wear as his friend.

Suddenly, Wayne collapsed onto the ground, skidding to a stop for a few feet, exhausted. Lloyd followed suite not long after.

"Maybe we should just…lay down here for a bit. Replenish our electrolytes and all that like the coach says." Said Wayne, taking in deep breaths.

Spitting out tuffs of grass, Lloyd voiced his agreement. "Sounds like a plan man."

For about a minute or so, the two of them continued to regain their strength, remaining in their positions on the grass and the dirt. It was at that point, that Lloyd heard what sounded like a ball being tossed into the air only to be caught and repeat the cycle all over again. Looking up, he saw a kid leaning in the shade of an oak in front of them, doing so with reminded him very much of the baseball he and his friend had run all the way out here to find.

This itself was not all that unusual, but after doing a double take on the kid holding the ball, he couldn't help but let out a snicker and tap Wayne on the shoulder.

"Hey dude, get a look at this joker."

Blowing out dust from his nostrils, Wayne pulled his head off of the ground and looked in the direction he was pointing to. He saw the same kid playing catch by himself with the baseball, and also saw that said kid was dressed in a set of medieval looking armor, a symbol resembling green hourglass incased in a black background, emblazoned on his chest plate. He even had a cape.

"Look's like somebody thinks Halloween's early this year."

Despite his body's aching protests as he did so, Wayne snickered at this and said, "Yep."

The two mutually decided that now was the time to get up, and shuffled, not unlike the living dead, towards the boy in the centuries old and outdated armor.

"Hey kid!" Wayne cried out, trying to get the boy's attention as his eyes were closed, seemingly in deep thought. Slowly, his eyes opened, revealing them to be lime green, and he stopped tossing the ball. Taking this to mean that he now had his attention, Wayne continued. "Can you give that ball back to us?"

The boy seemed to be mulling something over when his response came. "Hmm…why should I?" he asked with a frown.

"Uhmmm…because it's ours?" Wayne asked, confused.

"Huh." Said the boy simply, resuming his tossing of the ball. "How do I know that's true and that the two of you aren't little truants looking to scam someone out of their hard earned sports equipment?"

Lloyd spoke up, crossing his arms over his shoulder. "Because that ball has the Stark Industries logo on it. It even says, "Property of Stark Baseball Field" on it in black.

The boy caught the ball mid-through and looked around its surface, eyes apparently finding Lloyd's words to be true. "Huh. Well whatdya know. It does."

The boy began tossing the ball again.

"Uhmmm…so that mean's you'll give it back, right?" asked Wayne, hopefully and apprehensively.

"No." the boy put bluntly, ignoring the looks of nonplus on the outfielder's faces, and closing his eyes in contemplation once more.

"Look kid, I don't know what crazy Renaissance fair you just came out of, but we don't have time for this! Our game is probably over by now and we want Iron Man and Captain America to sign our mitts before they gotta go save the world or somethin' again!" Lloyd snapped. "So just give us the ball, and we can be out of your hair so you can keep contemplating how stupid you look in that get-up in peace, or whatever you were doin'!"

Faster than any normal human being should be able to, to Wayne at least, the kid's eyes shot open and narrowed. He thought he could briefly see them glow white with black specks. His friend however, didn't seem to notice, if the fact that he continued to glare while Wayne himself blinked and rubbed his eyes was evidence enough. Somehow, he got the feeling that his friend shouldn't have said what he did.

"Who?" asked the boy, surprisingly nonchalantly to Wayne's ears.

"You know! Iron Man and the Cap! Two of the Avengers! Earths Mightiest heroes and all that." Said Lloyd, eyebrow quirked.

"Hmmm…sorry. Doesn't ring a bell," the boy said, shrugging his shoulders and looking smugly at the two of them, "and even if it did, that still wouldn't you'd get to have _my _ball."

If Lloyd had looked a little peeved before, now he was irate. "Oh yeah, well…we'll see if you say that when we tell Iron Man and the Captain kid!"

In response, the boy laughed. A deep and throaty chuckle that would sound perfectly at home coming from the mouths of any number of the world's super villains, Wayne and Lloyd both thought. "Go ahead you pea-brained peasant. Go ahead and tattle on me to your heroes as though they were your mommies. Just be sure to tell them that the kid you're _"running in"_—he began, before bringing up his left wrist and turning a dial on the strange but cool looking watch thing that apparently allowed him to cycle through a series of green holograms before he settled on one and slammed the dial down.

The immediate area was bathed in an emerald light so bright that the outfielders had to look away and shield their eyes. When it sopped and the reopened the, they saw that the boy was replaced with something that, if it didn't already. Would haunt their nightmares for years to come.

A bi-pedal humanoid creature whose body seemed to be composed out of molten lava covered in dark red or brown rocks, with two-toed feet shaped like tuning forks lacking the rocky covering, the same hourglass symbol on its chest, and an eyeless, rocky face that was alit with flame. That last detail reminded the two of some demonic superhero they had heard of. Spirit Driver, or something.

In that moment though, their mind were a bit more focused on what it said, their faces wide with terror. "—looks like this." The boy, now monster, finished. "Now run along, would you? I've a park to burn down, and don't think you wanna feel like roasted chipmunks today."

Not needing to be told twice, Wayne and Lloyd turned tail and found the strength to run even faster and further than they had previously, all the way back to the baseball field. Behind them, the boy began to make good on his word.

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After Delta team had managed to tie (lifting up Manuel and tossing him into the air a few times) a line had quickly formed in front of Tony and the cap full of players who had not yet gotten their autographs on whatever it was they wanted it on. It was at this time, about halfway through the excited children with twinkles in their eyes, that they, along with everyone else in the field, saw several bright flashes of orange-red come from elsewhere in the park. It was also at about this time that the two outfielders from Charlie team, Wayne McDuffie and Lloyd Kirkland, if the captain's memorization of the player's list was correct, springing from the tree-line and hopping over the fence in a way that would make participants in the junior Olympics a little green with envy.

Skidding to a stop next to the captain, and kicking up a rather large cloud of dust, the two began talking surprisingly rapid fire, despite the fact that they looked visibly exhausted, in between gasps for breathe and panting, their faces appearing as though they had just seen a ghost.

The captain was busy trying to decipher what it was they were trying to say and was in the process of trying to calm them down when someone shouted something he _could _make out clearly. "In the sky! Look!" he heard.

Doing so, he saw that a rather large sphere of flame was dropping towards the field, at an angle heading towards him and the crowd of children gathered around him, whose eyes widened in unison with his own.

"Scatter!" He yelled, his feet and the children following his command without hesitation.

Not five seconds later, the sphere hit, radiating its deadly payload outward for the next fifteen or so feet. Had it not been for the captain's shield standing in the way, the two outfielders, as tired and as sluggish to accelerate as quickly as the other players as they were, they would have been in a much worse state of being.

Looking towards where he suspected the fiery projectile to have come from, the cap turned his head towards Tony and said, above the panicking sounds of the people in the field, "I hope you brought your suit to the game Tony, because it looks like we'll need it!"

With a nod to the golden avenger, who returned the gesture, Captain America headed towards the interior of the park, and, hopefully, the source of whatever had just endangered the lives of himself and, more importantly, these young Americans whose parents were giving it their all abroad.

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After those two peons had scurried away like frightened squirrels from his now fiery presence, The Prince had begun to do what his Heatblast form demanded of him. Burning down the park by setting everything on fire of course. He was beginning to grow bored of this attempt to attract this world's defenders, whoever they may be, when something unexpected happened. An object, rather hard he admitted, struck him in the back of his lit head, causing him to stagger forward a bit.

Looking back, he saw an object, disk shaped, spin through the air and be caught in the waiting hand of...of...

"_Oh this is rich..."_

Apparently, the object, which he could now see was some sort of circular shield emblazoned with a red, white, and blue color scheme with a large star in the center, belonged to a...a...

He couldn't help himself anymore. He burst out laughing, clutching his stomach to prevent himself from keeling over. The..._man_ now holding the shield, and coincidentally sharing the same color scheme right down to the white star on his chest, raised an eyebrow. "Is something funny?" he asked.

Wiping a molten tear from his eye, the Prince managed to cease his giggling for a moment to look back at him. "Nothing, nothing, it's just, your outfit and those little wings on your head!"

Ben fell over backwards and began rolling on the ground, laughing hysterically all the while. The man whose outfit he had just insulted didn't share his amusement though, if his narrowed eye slits were any indication. "I don't know what your deal is mister, but I won't sit by a let you burn down Central park."

Wiping another molten tear, Ben got back up to his feet and grew a smug grin on his face. "Oh yeah? And who's gonna stop me? Some human with a magic Frisbee who should really look in the mirror and try not to laugh at how utterly stupid he looks?"

Before either of them could respond, another voice shouted out, "Not exactly!"

The two of them turned their heads towards the sky where the voice had emanated from. Not long after, Ben found himself struck in the chest by a cyan blue beam comprised of some sort of concussive energy and knocked into a nearby tree with enough force to tip it, and him, over.

After getting up, he saw what appeared to be either a robot or a man in a suit of powered armor land next to the man with a shield with one of his palms outstretched and glowing the same color as the beam in the center. He had to admit, in comparison to guy standing next to it/him, this newcomer looked leaps and bounds more cool and threatening.

"What took you so long?" Asked the shield bearer.

"I'd say traffic, but I get the feeling you're already upset with me enough as it is." Responded the robot or armored man. The ridiculously garbed man stifled a groan. "So, who is this guy? Mutant? Deranged creature from a magical fantasyland? The cause of the recent heat-wave that makes it impossible to walk outside without smelling like you just finished a workout in the gym a few minutes later?"

At this, the Prince stood tall, removing any previous slouch in his posture. He briefly wondered if he should use his true name, but decided against it in favor of the Royal name decreed to this form. "My name is Heatblast, and to answer your question cretin, I am what you would refer to as an alien."

"Really?" Asked the machine/possibly-armored man. "Care to explain then how you're able to speak perfect English...and why you've decided to turn Central Park into a raging forest fire?"

"I could do that..." Began the Prince, crossing his arms over his chest with a bored look on his face, "...or...I could see if the inhabitants of this planet are as incompetent as they dress. No offense to your shield carrying friend here, of course."

Waiting for some sort of response from the shield bearer, the Prince was surprise to find his face had not faltered from its previous look. It appeared that this man had some level of discipline, despite his choice of attire.

"Well, since we were going to bring you in anyways for sorta, kinda making firewood out of public property and scaring little kids-" The mechanical man began, before Ben sent a torrent of fire to his face with enough force to send _him _crashing into a tree.

"Tony!" the man said, looking back at his compatriot before turning to face the prince, a scowl now etched onto his features.

"I hope you managed to get a good look at your ally there, because what I did to him is what I'm about to do to you Mr. Garish." Ben said, his hands still engulfed in flame.

Quickly, the Prince began hurling balls of fire at the shield bearer, rather arrogantly assuming that the man would fall as dead as roasted octopus within seconds because of their approaching speed and their placement. What he, in his self-assured sense of superiority was not expecting however, was for the man to manage to dodge or evade a good number of them and block all of those he didn't with that magic Frisbee of his on his way towards him. He also didn't expect the man to hurl his shield and strike him in the forehead with enough force to cause him to stagger again. And, he most _certainly _did not expect for the man to enter melee distance so quickly and whack him twice against both sides of his rock like cranium with said Frisbee before finishing with a rather hurtful bash to the chest that knocked him on his backside, again.

As the man prepared to strike him in the head _again _as the Prince lay on the ground however, Ben managed to catch the shield in his hands and toss it over his head, bearer and all. Turning around and kneeling on one knee, he then quickly decided send a torrent of fire of a caliber not unlike that of the one he had hit his ally with his way. Having just managed to land on his feet from his brief flight through the air (an act which the Prince begrudged was impressive, for a mere human), the man raised his shield up as a barrier and, much to the Prince's visible astonishment and annoyance, managed to actually fight against successfully enough that he was now rapidly beginning to close the distance between the two.

Thinking on his toes, Ben aimed both of his hands down, the force from the flames allowing him to get airborne and avoid the attack just as his opponent had reached striking distance. Mentally patting himself on the back for his ingenuity, the Prince spread his arms wide, preparing to generate a fireball about the size of your average beach ball to throw down at the brightly colored bullseye below when felt cold metal on his back. Specifically, cold metal shoulder tackling him at high speeds and sending him into a trajectory in which he crashed, rather loudly, into a nearby pond below.

After managing to pry himself free from the crater his impact had caused at the bottom of the lake, Ben managed to heat himself up enough to the point where the water levels began to steadily decrease until it was just a puddle with steam vapor billowing away. It wasn't long before he found himself face to face with the mechanical man, who was now facing both of his energy projecting palms his way as he hovered in the air.

"I'm only going to say this once Heatwave-"

"-Heat_blast._" The Prince said tersely.

"-stand down." The mechanical man finished, not even acknowledging the petulant correction.

The Prince put a rocky finger to his lip and play acted as though he were in thought.

"Gee...what do I think about that offer?" He said, pursing what would pass for lips on his Pyronite body before snapping two of his fingers together (coincidentally causing a literal spark), "I know. This!"

He reared his head back and sounded as though he was gathering as much spit as he could at the back of his throat. What came out though was much warmer, as the mechanized man discovered when his head or helmet was covered in molten magma, blinding him long enough for Ben to unleash his true offensive. A stream of fire spewed forth from his mouth, not unlike that laser-breath ability utilized by Dragons that the old orders of Forever Knights had confused for _fire breath_.

His opponent however, had managed to respond much faster this time. Despite the molten rock plastered across his head or helmet, he managed to keep both palms raised and managed to send two continuous beams of energy towards the fiery stream. The three collided; Ben's fire and the man's energy played a deadly game of reverse tug-o-war as they fought to overpower the other. After a few seconds of this, it seemed as though the Prince would win this game when he noticed the blue triangle built into the machine's or armor's chest, which he had suspected was its source of power, begin to glow the same blue as his palms right before they fir-

Expediently, Ben raised his hands up and let loose an accompanying stream of flame to join his earlier one. However, though he beat the mechanical man to the draw, the beam from his chest came forth much faster and much harder. With force like a speeding hover-truck, it slammed into his new stream, trampling over it in an instant and impacted his chest. It knocked the wind out of him and caused him to relent on his earlier stream, which, in turn, caused him to get struck in the head by both of the _other _beams. He found himself forced into the ground, being pushed deeper and deeper despite his meager attempts at fighting against the power opposing him as well as staying awake while doing so.

Eventually, the mechanical man relented and took in his handiwork. A decent sized crater with dust still floating around it, with a rocky, humanoid, pyrokinetic alien lying in the center. Its usually lit body was losing its fire, as though someone were trying to blow out a candle. Its mouth let out a groan that sounded something like, _"Blasted tin cans..." _Its eyes closed shut.

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"Jarvis, talk to me." Iron Man said to his onboard A.I. as he scanned the downed form of Heatblast, who lay unmoving in the crater his repulsor beams and chest-buster had created.

"_It would appear that the extraterrestrial being designated "Heatblast" is unconscious sir."_

"Huh." Said a voice from below. "I could have told you that much Tony."

Looking down, Iron Man saw that Captain America had managed to catch up, and was kneeling at the edge of the crater, head leaning on his trademarked shield. Hovering downwards until his armored feet hit the ground next to his comrade, Iron Man said, "True, but that still leaves us with one question. Well…actually, it leaves us with a _bunch _of questions, but the one I'm talking about is how this guy was able to get past S.W.O.R.D.'s radar." His faceplate reeled back as he stood, staring at the knocked out alien below. "I mean, never mind that he seems to have all of the subtlety of, well, most of the super villains we've danced with—"

"—and _you_ too, Tony?" Interrupted the captain with a smirk.

"Ignoring that…" said Tony, not even bothering to look at the cap. "My point is: how did he manage to get to earth without the premiere defense agency for off-world threats knowing and doing something about it?"

The Captain remembered back to when they were still inside the field and those two players had ran back, yelling at them frantically as well as at the edge of comprehensibility. Though even he couldn't make out all of the words they were saying, he thought that he could vaguely recall them saying something about "boy," "transformed," and "monster."

"I don't know myself." He said, shaking his head. "A Skrull agent that somehow managed to escape the sweep initiated by us and S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"_Unlikely." _Spoke up Jarvis. _"His DNA does not match that of any known species in my databanks, including the Skrull."_

"Huh. Well there goes that theory." Tony said.

"_Furthermore, there seems to be some unusual residual energy emanating from his body that is not catalogued."_

"Is it dangerous?" asked the Cap, standing up.

"_From preliminary scans, unlikely."_

"Hrmmm…maybe he teleported onto the surface of the planet?" asked Iron Man with a gauntleted hand on his chin.

"Why don't we take back to the mansion and find out?"

In the crater below, Heatblast seemed to stir slightly, a smile forming on his rock-like face.

"Good idea cap. I'll contact Ms. Marvel and see if she can't—"

Iron Man never got to finish that sentence as, from the crater below, he and Captain America had to shield their eyes from an emerald light that enveloped I and the nearby area so fast, that Jarvis's warning came to late. As their eyes struggled to readjust after it had subsided, the Captain found himself struck, rather painfully so, in the chest by a green laser beam that burned away a good section of his outfit (as well as a good section of the skin around his chest) and knocked him on his back.

"Steve!" yelled out his armored friend.

In his shock and surprise at seeing his childhood idol, his friend get taken down so quickly after everything looked to be under control, his mind didn't even register his A.I.'s warning until it was too late. Until the wide white and black creature with a single green eye, what looked like green circuitry on it's back, and the same hourglass symbol as Heatblast tackled him to the ground and seemed to…_integrate _itself into his armor, easily overpowering its and Jarvis's attempts to fight back and gaining control of its systems.

Now, with a black and green color scheme not unlike the creature's back, the faceplate slammed closed, silencing the screams of protest from the armor's creator and former master, now nothing but its prisoner.

The possessed Iron Man armored moved towards Captain America's shield, which was lying on the ground before its owner's feet, and picked it up, equipping it over his right arm.

Struggling to stay in the world of the awake, the Captain looked up, taking what he though was his friend's new appearance, and asking, "T-T-Tony?"

The armor turned its helmet towards him and lifted him off of his feet by his neck, tightening its grip ever more. "Sorry Mr. Garish, but your friend's not home at the moment." Said a voice over its external speakers, in an icy tone, that sounded as though it would be better suited coming from a ten year old boy.

The Captain valiantly struggled briefly before his world became black.


	3. Chapter 3

There is an old saying back on his earth, a proverb that Ben remembered went something like, and "Knowledge is Power." If that adage did indeed prove itself to be true, then the Prince was quite literally amongst the most powerful sapient beings on this earth.

Not because of his omnitrix (though he admitted that it _was _a rather large factor), but rather, because of the shear amount of knowledge he was absorbing thanks to his mechamorph form allowing him to hi-jack the armor of one of this world's heroes, the _Invincible _Iron Man. This knowledge did not come from the fact that turning into upgrade allowed him to know the armor's systems inside and out (though, again, this was a big part of it), but rather from the fact that, using the aforementioned bells and whistles that the suit possessed (which, he had to admit, we're an impressive feet of engineering in this Universe or his own), he was able to access the entirety of this world's primitive public communications networks (which he remembered reading in an antique thing of paper and ink called a "Hardback Encyclopedia" was referred to as the _Inter_net) and several, much more advanced and heavily encrypted, private databases.

From this, he was able to gleam much about the "whose who" of this version of planet earth. Including the names and abilities of many of this world's Super-Villains, who the former and active directors of this world's answer to the Old Plumbers a global "peacekeeping" and espionage force known as "S.H.I.E.L.D." were, and of course, who was currently a member of this world's premiere group of "superheroes", The Avengers.

What he learned left him feeling both giddy with anticipation and excitement yet, also, apprehensive with nervousness and…a tinge of fear.

For he had learned that, despite the ridiculous get-up worn by Mr. Garish (who he had decided to refer to as "Captain Bulleseye" from now on after learning his true name), The Avengers, from the information he was looking over anyways, did not seem to be _nearly _as ineffectual or idiotic as the Galactic Defenders of his Universe were before his father had floored them effortlessly and banished them to eternal labor inside the Null Void.

On one hand, this new insight meant that the spice of challenge would be involved in his conquest of this world. On the other, well, to put it simply, they had the actual Norse God of Thunder on their side, a big strong dude on their side who, thanks to heavy exposure to gamma radiation, now gets stronger the angrier he gets, and they've taken down threats and foes that would have given his father, his Uncle Kevin, and his Aunt Gwen pause in their youth (though he would never even _imply _that his Aunt was _un_youthful when in her presence. He still had the occasional nightmare from the last time he did so). Resting this world from the grasp of those who lorded over it would require much more effort than he had anticipated, which didn't even go into the galaxy it floated in.

Though he supposed that conquest on _that _scale would have to wait until he came back with his squadron of ships, which was looking more and more like a real possibility. Instead, for the rest of his trial run, he would focus on maximizing his attempts to scatter this world's defenses like Galvins before the feet of a To'kustar. Who knew? If he encountered the Avengers known as "Thor" and "Hulk," he may actually use that form against them.

For now though, his twenty minutes were almost up. Using his unrestricted access to the Stark Industries network, he'd leave a little…present for the Avengers to deal with before removing his "Upgrade" self from the armor and reverting back to his human form, armor and all. A present once given to them by one of their…mechanical villains that he thought they'd appreciate receiving a second time.

Without fear of repercussions, as he had locked down the armor permanently while he was a mechamorph, the Prince casually flicked an armored finger against the armor, causing it to topple backwards and crash, unceremoniously, to the ground of the abandoned warehouse he had decided to use as his temporary headquarters.

"Goodbye Mr. Stark. I shan't be long. I am merely off to fetch attire that will allow me to blend in better with the peasants of this era." Ben said, knowing full well that the man inside couldn't hear him in that metal coffin of his. "Do keep our mutual friend, Captain Bulleseye, company. You know how he just loves to _hang about _this old shanty of mine." He concluded, looking up to a catwalk where Captain America was suspended off from in steel chains that wrapped tightly around him.

With that, the Prince took off his crown and pressed the royal symbol on his regalia, turning it back into its typical, unarmored self. He walked out of a rusty metal door before slamming it shut, whistling a merry tune all the while.

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Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, was a man of simple desires. All he wanted, all he needed to be happy, was to have a decent meal, a good fight, indoor plumbing, and sleep.

At the moment though, the only thing out of those that he had was the latter. For, like a glutton for punishment, when the Hulk's time of the month came, he had decided to accompany Dr. Banner on a trip to India. A trip to a remote village in India. Where only Vegetarian food that, while tasty, he skipped on because he knew his body would find it too exotic, was being served. To make matters worse, they had come all the way out here so that Bruce could participate in a yoga class.

So, yeah. At the moment, Hawkeye wished that they had gone fishing again.

"Umpfff!" He shouted aloud, getting hit in the head by a soccer ball hard enough to slam it against the wooden hut he was leaning against.

Rubbing his forehead and the back of his cranium, he saw a trio of little village kids dressed in clothing befitting of their status come up to him. Though he couldn't understand what they were saying (foreign languages were always more Natasha's thing than his), he understood the gist of what they were trying to convey.

He picked up the soccer ball (which some small part of him realized was called a football in this region of the world) and held it there in his hands, looking at them with narrowed eyes for a few moments.

This was the third time they had done this. How, aside from them being little prodigies, he wasn't entirely sure, as they played their game fairly outside of the little town, but he just _knew _that if he gave it back to them, his head would be ringing again sometime in the near future.

This logical part of his brain, however, was quickly overwritten by their mastery of an ancient human art that predated even the yoga Banner was practicing in the hut behind him. The feared and dreaded puppy dog eyes.

"Fine." He grumbled, tossing it to one of them. "But if that ball of yours somehow manages to make it back to my face again, I'm keeping it. Capishe?"

The kid who caught the ball nodded his head and said, "Capishe," before running off with his little friends. Clint resumed his lean and closed his eyes. Man, he _really _wished that he were out fishing right about now…

He was brought out of his wishes however, when he heard the panicked shouting of the townspeople and what sounded like a steady sonic boom. Following to where their fingers were pointed, Hawkeye saw a familiar sight in the sky that he was not expecting to see in this part of the world today.

"Is that…Tony?"

The red and gold object coming their way certainly looked like Tony's current armor set-up…but it seemed to be a bit too…bulky and…head-less. He was brought out of his pondering however, when he noticed something decloak from an invisibility field generator right in front of him and grab him by the throat: Tony's Stealth armor, to be precise.

Luckily though, before its grip could tighten, he struck the armor in the head with a taster arrow he had secretly pulled out a few moments earlier, having heard the sound of something heavy land on the ground and make splashes in the muddy ground.

It released its hold on the archer, who decided to forego clutching his throat in favor of coughing out and aiming his bow, another Taser arrow and explosive one, loaded and ready to fire.

"Tony! What was that abou—"?

His words died in his rather sore larynx when he noticed the red glow of the armor charging up its chest buster. Acting quickly, he rolled to the left just as it fired, cutting straight through the hut and reducing a two-ton boulder behind it to pebbles.

Stealing a quick glance into the newly formed hole made where he was just leaning against, Hawkeye saw two shocked faces in the hut, low to the ground and looking his way. The armor aimed its left palm inside and its right towards Clint.

Though he managed to dodge the ensuing repulsor blast meant for him, the one from its left armed managed to hit its intended target, striking Bruce Banner in the head with sufficient force to knock him out cold.

After hearing the shout of pain that came from Bruce's lips, Hawkeye re-aimed his bow and said, "Okay Stark! I don't know what this is about, but I'm gonna—"

The sound of something even heavier than the Stealth Armor thudding against the ground stopped him from finishing. Looking down, he noticed that a shadow had fallen over him. Turning his head around, he saw the object from before; a _very _large suit of powered armor that he remembered as Tony's "Hulkbuster" that he was sure would be staring down at him with menacing eyes if it had a head to begin with.

It didn't take him long to put two and two together.

"That's…not Tony in that armor, is it?" He asked, more to himself than to the twelve feet of metal behind him as the Stealth Armor walked out of the hut carrying Banner over its shoulder (having entered previously while Hawkeye was busy noticing the Hulkbuster behind him).

The sounds of both armors charging up both of their sets of repulsor rays told him all he needed to know.

Taking a deep breath, he let out a short sigh and said, "Figures. Just my luck."

Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, **_REALLY _**wished he had gone with the others to that schwarma joint in Philly today…

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**MEANWHILE, AT A SCHWARMA JOINT IN PHILADELPHIA THAT DAY…**

Awkward silences were nothing new to the team. Heck, they were about as liable, if not more so, to happen in their lives as the next potentially world destroying crises.

Still, if one of those absurdly boring and stuck up intellectual types that wrote dictionaries could see the scene in this restaurant today, the Wasp was sure that he or she (being boring or stuck up knows no boundaries when it comes to gender, after all) would have taken a snapshot, with their cellphone camera if need be, and put it into the latest edition of their absurdly thick tome.

It wasn't so much the silence coming from the patrons inside (after all, what would you do if Black Panther, Yellow Jacket, Thor, and the Wasp just suddenly walked into the joint you were eating at and ordered something?) as it was from the five heroes inside. Each held a piece of schwarma in hand with a large chunk of it missing and wearing frozen expressions of surprise, disgust, and a little bit of horror on their faces. No one, not even the normally boisterous socialite or Asgardian, dared to make a peep.

Hank Pym didn't because he held absolute certainty that if he were to open his mouth then and there, Jan would have hit him in the shoulder for dissing on her idea to come here.

Ms. Van Dyne didn't because she knew she'd probably diss herself for her decision.

Thor remained silent because he was busy trying to decide if that one piece of rotten pork that Loki had switched out for his usual meal when the two were but lads was worse.

The Black Panther remained silent because he was, well, himself.

Whatever reasons unique to them that they had for remaining silent however, they all shared at least one other reason besides the pure and utter terrible their taste buds were having immense difficulty processing at the moment. Namely the fact that, if they were seen to be revolted by what they were chewing (or trying to, anyways), the kindly old widower of the shop, Ms. Konosos, would probably lose her humble eatery, her home, and what little else she had. Some fans of the team were…odd like that. Especially in a Northeastern town like the city of Brotherly love. Jannet still had the occasional nightmares about that mob in Boston…

So, like true, self-less, self-sacrificing heroes, they toughened up and tried to put on as convincing a show as they could. Suffice it to say, anyone with half a brain could tell just by lookin' at 'em that it wasn't going very well. Luckily for them though, the onlookers were mostly of average intelligence for the area.

So quickly and unexpectedly that the team had serious doubts that she WASN'T a mutant with the ability to teleport, the tiny older Grecian lady who owned the place appeared right by their table. Even T'Chala was taken off guard by this.

"So, what biggest and best heroes in world think of schwarma, yes?" Mrs. Konosos asked, adjusting her pair of round rim glasses.

Yellow Jacket's eyes immediately fell upon the Wasp, something of a wry grin forming on his face. With noticeably more shame, Thor and the Panther's eyes were not far behind.

Fixing each of them a glare that could have saved the world from the casket of ancient winters all by itself, Jannet was the first to swallow down her meal in any considerable fashion (an act that she did not relish by any definition of the word) and, after a few seconds of waging all out war with her own gag reflex, opened her eyes and put on the best beaming smile she could for the kindly old widow.

"It's…uhhh…certainly….different, that's for sure, Rosa."

"Ahhh…different is good, yes?"

The Wasp looked back towards her assembled teammates, who still had their respective looks plastered across their faces. After a short-lived bout of non pluss, she put her faux smile back on and looked at Mrs. Konosos.

"Of…cour—"

Before she could finish that blatant lie of her though, the sound of jet-boots landing nearby drowned out her words. Head swiveling towards the window along with everyone else inside the restaurant, Janet saw none other than Iron Man, inside his MK VIII for some reason, land on the side-walk right on her side of the street.

_"Saved by the over engineered red and yellow bell Jan…"_ Whispered Yellow Jacket into the Wasp's ear as he got up and headed towards the door, earning two feminine eyes trying to bore their way through the back of his head.

Covertly dispensing with his uneaten foodstuffs through the act of wiping his mouth clean with a pair of napkins he had picked up, Yellow Jacket opened the door and tossed them into a nearby trashcan, where he humorously thought they best belonged in, and regarded the golden avenger with hands on his hips.

"So Stark: where are we being whisked away to this time, and tell me it involves loads of gratuitous violence!"

_Iron Man's _response was most unusual. After all, what would you call apparently blasting one of your oldest teammates in the chest with a repulsor blast powerful enough to send him crashing through the glass of the door and smash the table he was seated at moments later, unconscious? For that matter, what would you call raising your other hand and firing a repulsor blast that burrowed through the brick masonry of a wall and struck the Black Panther with enough force to knock him out as well? All within the span of three seconds?

"Friend Stark! What be thine intention—"

The Thunder God was prevented from speaking by no less than six suits of Iron Man Power Armor (the MK II, MK III, MK VI, MK VII, Silver Centurion, and Arctic Armor) smashing in from one of the sidewalls of the establishment and tackling him through the roof.

As those inside began fleeing and screaming in abject terror, Jannet looked towards the MK VIII, which slowly began to approach her, from her vantage point on the restaurant's once pristine tiling (having fallen over backwards in her chair after Thor made his unexpected exit through the ceiling with the other battle suits).

As its chest-buster began to hum with power, two short sentences escaped her lips.

"I should have gone to Indian with Bruce and Clint. I hear it's nice this time of year."

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Before the gates of Avenger's mansion, Prince Ben stood, clad in garb that would make him a dead ringer for his father at that age. The only difference in appearance between the two, if one were better versed than the common onlooker in such matters, was that behind their emerald green eyes, his father did not come off nearly as cold, calculating, or malicious at that age.

After leaving his two captives behind, he had begun to start wandering around the city with only the most general of ideas as to where the closest department vendor was located at from the maps he had pulled up when he was still attached to Stark's MK IX. In retrospect, he probably should have lingered on the maps for a bit longer in order to properly memorize the swiftest route. It certainly would have sved him some odd looks and stares as he casually walked down the sidewalk.

Still, through his own sheer determination and brilliance (as well as his patience, which eventually lead him to asking one of the locals for directions after a _FIRM _display of his combat training due to the insult said local slung at him), he had managed to find a clothing store. He took five pairs of apparel that caught his eye and intimidated the drones there to allow him to leave without offering any form of their primitive form of compensation with his sheer force of personality (and liberal application of his Annodite heritage).

After a harrowing escape from what he believe were called "rent-a-cops" (if his Uncle's accounts were to be believed) that guarded the establishment down several back alleys, he decided to "procure" more resources from several other shops of various types before returning to the Central Park area, in particular, the home of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

Now, with a large duffle bag slung over his shoulders and "Papaya" smoothie in hand, he opened the gate, entered the grounds, and entered into the state through the front door as though he were its owner. While connected to the Stark Industries network, he did hack trough its security systems faster than his father rendered the Highbreed, as they used to be known, extinct after all.

If what he knew of the mansion from the intel he was able to gather was true, than all of the gadgets and gizmos located inside would be a real 'blast' to play with.

_"Ha! 'Blast'! Good one Ben." _ He thought to himself as he leisurely strolled towards where the vision was recovering from a previous battle.

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Dashing quickly to the side, Hawkeye managed to narrowly avoid the power of the chest busters. However, he was not lucky enough to completely avoid the resulting small explosion that was a product of the two opposing forces colliding. Landing a good ten feet away into an inconveniently placed fruit stand. Hawkeye quickly aimed his bow and took fire at the two autonomous suits of armor which had staggered back slightly from the blast. Taser-arrow on the left, explosive arrow on the right.

Before they hit their mark however, they were detonated prematurely by a wide blast from one of the Hullkbuster's sonic gauntlets. Making the best out of a bad situation by using the ensuing smoke to cover his retreat into the nearest building, Hawkeye ran up the steps of the house. After fumbling around in his attempt to grab his Avenger's I.D. , he ascended the final steps and tackled the thin door in his way, finding himself in an attic of sorts.

"Guys! We've got a situation here! Two of Tony's suits just showed up and decided to rebel against their human overlords here!" He shouted into the card as he slammed the door shut behind him. "Ultron's still scrap metal, right?"

It wasn't until he heard a distinctive crackling sound that he looked down on the card and saw lines of static running back and forth over the picture of his face. It was also at about that time that he heard the front door (and the entire forward wall of the structure) turn to splinters.

"Great. Just my luck."

He leapt though the window, ignoring the shards of broken glass as he placed his bow over the clothesline and zipped down towards an adjacent building, crashing through another window. The timing was perfect, as he soon discovered when the building he was just inside of went up in smoke.

He was about to leap back into action when he felt a broom violently and repeatedly smash against the back of his head. Turning around, he found a middle aged Indian woman shouting at him in one of the dozens of languages regularly spoken in the country, holding the broom. Two young children were cradled around her legs.

Trying his best to diffuse the misunderstanding, Hawkeye shouted, "Look lady—ah! I'm not the one—oh—trying to—ow that's a mean swing—attack this place!"

Deciding his head had suffered enough physical trauma for the day, he caught the broom midway into its next swing and pulled it from her hands.

"Quit it!" He shouted out.

From the ruins of the building across the street, a repulsor blast came, seemingly out of nowhere and struck the building dead center. Such was the extent of the damage that the building began crumbling forwards and Hawkeye found himself falling backwards through the window and onto the (thankfully) unpaved road below.

He was about to get up when he heard the sound of metal boots repeatedly slamming against the ground growing closer and closer. Twisting to the right just in time to avoid being punches in the chest by an invisible fist, Hawkeye pulled out a taser-arrow from his quiver. Using the dirt covered knuckles as a guide; he struck the suit of stealth armor in its arm and used what little time he had to catch the woman and her children, as they finally happened to fall over.

"Listen lady! Do you speak English!?" He yelled.

"Y-y-yes." She stammered out.

"Good! Now, take your kids and beat it! Okay!? And get help! Preferably S.H.I.E.L.D. or Avengers type help! Capishe!?"

"Uhhh…what is, _capishe?"_

Before Hawkeye could do more than groan though, he felt himself hoisted off the ground by the collar of his shirt by the stealth suit's now visible hand and thrown into a storefront display. Trying to clear his wonky vision, he looked past the approaching death machine to find the woman and her tykes still standing there, paralyzed with fear.

_"Ah fer crying out—" _He began, under his breath. "Put one foot in front of the other and RUN lady!"

Snapping out of whatever trance she was in, the woman scooped up her children and finally legged out of there. Looking back at the stealth armor with narrowed eyes, Hawkeye said, "Alright tin-man! It's just you, me, and thousands of years of human development right here in my—"

Hawkeye tried to grab his bow, but was surprised when his hands came up empty. Looking back towards the second destroyed building, he found his trusty tool lying on the ground, not far from where he fell.

The Stealth Armor raised one of its palms towards him.

"Okay then. Scratch that. It looks like it's just you and me—"

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Shrinking down quickly, the Wasp managed to avoid the blast from the chest buster and the _hole _it would have poked in her already rotten day. The three or so walls the beam penetrated through before dissipating however, were not.

Flying around the suit, she began doing what she did best and hurled bolt after bolt of bio-energy at the thing, each one powerful enough to easily pierce three inches of tempered steel. Pulling her punches when it came to an Iron Man suit wasn't prudent, after all.

Still, even the power she was putting behind her stingers was not enough to pierce the shell of the technological marvel before her. A fact evidenced by the repulsor blast she was having increasing difficulty with dodging.

"Gah! This isn't working!" She yelled out before making a beeline (hehehe) through one of the air-duct grates above her. Pulling out her Avenger's I.D. card, she yelled out, "Tony! Your suits are going all psycho robot again over here! Panther and Hank are down, my stingers aren't even making a dent, and I don't even _know _what happened to Thor!"

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**IN THE SKIES OVER PHILADELPHIA…**

The Thunder god had experienced relatively peaceful days shattered by most unexpected and unruly happenstances before. However, he could honestly say that he had never expected to be in a situation quite like the one he found himself in.

Several suits of Tony Stark's own design clung to him like geckos, pushing him through the air with their repulsor-powered jets despite his obvious protests to the contrary. Were he fighting against a single one of these armors individually, he would have had little trouble breaking free. However, he had not the grasp of one to contend with, or even two, but SIX (four of them being much stronger and far more advanced than the others).

Were he to have Mjolnir in hand, he could—

_"Of course!" _He thought, mentally slapping himself. _"I'll just reach down to mine hip, retrieve mine fabled hammer, and show these soulless machines what happens when you strike a son of Odin!"_

He struggled to grab hold of his enchanted mallet but, mid-way to drawing the weapon, remembered the words of the Hulk, spoken earlier that day before he and Hawkeye left.

_"Without that hammer goldilocks, you're just a lightweight with a little bit of extra strength behind those punches of yours, and to me, just about as useless in a fight. I don't even get why you like to throw the only thing that gives you any power like you do, blondie."_

Deeper than even Surtur's blade, the Hulk's words had cut him, though he'd be loathe to admit. He'd hate even more to say that, after quite a bit of thought on the matter during the small quest that had brought him and the others into the Philadelphia area, he was right. Absolutely and unequivocally, right.

How many times had he been the deciding factor in a battle simply because he wielded one of the single most powerful objects in the Universe and not because of his strength and skill? How many times had the likes of evil managed to best him without the Allfather's gift? How many times had he squandered said gift as a crutch instead of as a complement to his abilities?

Looking back at all of the long centuries of life that he had experienced, Thor knew the answer in his heart of hearts: too many.

Well then, no more. No more would he rely on Mjolnir so in order to get through battles that he could and would wade through when he was younger, let alone his perpetually unhappy comrade. This day, he would stand victorious through sheer mettle and valor alone! This day, Thor, Prince of Asgard, would demonstrate to these automatons why Odin saw fit to bequeath to him his legendary uru mallet in the first place!

With reknewed vigor, Thor, instead of grabbing his hammer, butted the faceplate of the MK II wit the front of his cranium and that of the MK III with the back. The force of the blows was such that not only were rather noticeable dents created, but their metallic grasps on the Thunder god's body was loosened as well. Now,able to more effectively summon his Brodingnagian strength, he tore his muscular arms free, delivered an uppercut to the MK II, reached for his back, grabbed a hold of the MK III by its head, and threw it up into the air. After the two earlier armors collided, Thor delivered two haymakers to the chest plates of the suits holding onto his thigh muscles, powerful enough to cause them to knock off the two holding onto his feet on the way down.

Now, free, the Thunderer used his gift of flight to right himself in the air and landed heavily atop a rolling hill in a wooded area outside of the city. Plying his boots from the two feet or so of dirt they were buried in, he looked up just in time to see the suits crash through the tree line before him and land with thuds almost as heavy as his own in the flatter land beneath the hill.

He reached down for Mjolnir and knelt down, gently placing it on the ground. Standing back up, he stared down at them, a smirk snaking its way across his features.

"If Thor, Prince of Asgard, cannot best you without mine weapon, then truly I have gone _soft, _as the Hulk said!"

Without any other words save for his battle cry of "have at thee," he lunged at the nearest armor, using his right arm to shield him from the continuous repulsor blast it fired his way.

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"We need help down here, now!" The Wasp loudly continued.

After a few moments time however, she noticed a sound coming from the card that was none to hopeful. Looking at the static fuzz taking up where her portrait was supposed to be, her suspicions that what she now held in her hand couldn't even be used to unlock a door were proven correct.

"Oh, well that's just dandy!"

As she would soon come to learn, she should not have chosen that precise moment to decide and shout.

For, the MK VIII had locked onto her voice and proceeded to resume its offensive.

Seeing a continuous repulsor beam erupt through the steel a few inches in front of her, the Wasp turned tail and high _tail_ed it down the vent, the beam coming to within mere centimeters of grazing her. Luckily though, she managed to drop down a shaft and found respite after flying through the grates leading into the room below. Finding herself inside of the restaurant's freezer, she floated over towards the small rectangular window on the large steel door there. Wiping enough of the condensation off with her tiny hands, she saw the MK VIII begin to walk towards the kitchen, presumably to make certain she was an ex-person, and ducked out of site when its advanced eyes turned towards her general direction.

Thinking she had been spotted, it was a few moments later before she worked up enough courage to look through the window again. Much to her relief, she found the armor knocking or blasting cabinets, cupboards, stoves, sinks, and other things in its search and that it was at least a minute or two away from reaching the freezer.

Shivering slight, she turned around when she heard a voice behind her ask, "Is that you Jannett?"

Finding that it was Mrs. Konosos, hiding behind a box of meat with an expiration date that read, "11/06/11" turned upside down, she let out a sigh of relief.

"Yes Rosa. It's me."

Readjusting her shades, Mrs. Konosos gasped.

"Janet dear! You've lost so much weight!"

"Well, shrinking _is _one of my superpowers. The other's trying to budget out Hank's checkbook…back when he _had _a checkbook." She remembered, crossing her arms over her shoulders in a dourer mood.

As she floated towards the restaurateur, Mrs. Konosos asked, "What's wrong dear? Are those 'Occupy Sesame Street' bums attacking again!?"

The Wasp REALLY wished she hadn't said that so loudly. It certainly would have saved her the trouble of having to sail over the unibeam blast that tore through the door and created a hole in the wall behind Mrs. Konosos that allowed the sun to shine in.

"Worse!" The Wasp shouted, grabbing a hold of the small Grecian woman by her shirt collar.

With all of the power her tiny wings could muster, she flew out of the opening the MK VIII had so graciously provided, with Mrs. Konosos in tow. Over the drum of her racing heart, she thought she heard the door get tackled down by her attacker.

By then though, she was already buzzing through the air, only pushing herself farther and faster when she saw the restaurant disappear in a fiery cloud of explosive force behind her. Setting herself and her human cargo down upon the nearest rooftop, she returned to her normal size and gazed upon the ruins of the establishment, smoking in the distance.

After the adrenaline had worn off a bit, it spiked back up beyond its previous level when the gravity of the event she had just witnessed came crashing down upon her like a dozen Hulks. For, it appeared that her teammates, the Black Panther and Yellow Jacket, were…

"Oh no…" She said out loud to herself, tears starting to well up in her eyes. "T'Chala! Hank! HHHAAANNNKKK!"

**_A Word From the Author:_**

**Huzzah! I have finally updated this, my longest (and one of my most interesting) of tales! In a manner that I'm not entirely happy with because of how draining it was to write for due to my own insecurities about my writing talent(s) (or lack thereof)! **

**Huzzah!**

**Seriously though, despite the fact that I am IMMEASURABLY happy that I have FINALLY created a fic that exceeds sixteen thousand words, I am also melancholy at how…well…****_melancholy…_****the process involved on getting this chapter out and running was. I have SERIOUS reservations as to whether this chapter was even DECENT, Run of the Mill, Average, Passable, and etc YET ALONE good, or (Odin help you) great or excellent.**

**If you share these doubts, please don't HESITATE to tell me about them and offer suggestions as to how I can spice this chapter up a bit, because I have little doubt that it NEEDS some spicing. **

**Still, I suppose this is a time for celebration. So, effective immediately, to all those loyal readers out there (all half dozen of ya), you have accrued one brownie point. Though it may seem that I jest, I can assure that I most serious. This point means that, sometime soon, I will be preparing a special treat for you all in ADDITION to my next chapter. I can't yet say what it is or even when I'll put it up, for I'm as capricious and lacking of unlaziness as a child (which is to be expected considering that I am in fact a child in a young adult's body and that one of my penultimate and TRUE desires for a Christmas gift it to be eight years old agane), but know that it will in fact kick copious amounts of flank.**

**Until next time, so long, farewell, and Avetasin, goodnight (assuming you fall under Eastern standard time, like I do of course).**


	4. Brownie Short 1: Emperor Tenneseon

**Author's Warning:**

**The Following, I think, may be of a higher rating (Teen) than the rest of this story. Granted, it's most likely on the low end of the spectrum of that rating, bordering on K+ territory, but I feel that this particular tale requires that I give a warning to people anyways. **

**So, without further adieu, here's that little treat I said I'd give ya'll in celebration of the fact that this story broke the 16,000 word mark. Expect the next legit chapter of it to come out sometime soon, and happy New Years! Hopefully, I actually manage to escape this Universe for other, better ones this year….**

**UNIVERSE-? / UNITED STATES OF AMERICA / THE STATE OF TENNESSEE / 1865**

Atop the tallest peak of Lookout Mountain, Emperor Benjamin Tennyson stood, leaning forward on his faithful sword Ascalon (which was imbedded in the ground) with both hands wrapped around its hilt. Coad in the armored form of his black and green regalia, his dual colored cape flapped to the side in a spring breeze. His crowned head looked down to the valley of Chattanooga ahead, were thousands of ant-like beings (ten thousand by his count) were milling about with miniature horses, cannons, artillery pieces, flags, antiquated rifles, and uniforms.

These ants of course, were soldiers. Former Union and even some Confederate soldiers of the newly reunited country who had descended upon the valley with the intent of marching up Lookout Mountain, taking him down, and freeing the heads of the House of Representatives and the Senate, Abraham Lincoln's Cabinet, and the Great Emancipator himself.

Two weeks ago, after entering this Universe, he had donned the guise of your typical, mid-thirties wealthy type of this period in American history. Whistling with a pep in his step, he took a leisurely stroll through Washington D.C. that started in Langley, Virginia (on the exact spot where the future Pentagon would have been built before his intervention in this world's timeline), took him pass all of the famous landmarks of the National Mall (minus the Lincoln memorial, among other things, of course), and ended with him on a street called _1600 Pennsylvania Avenue_.

Waiting on a nearby bench, the Emperor in disguise watched as the gates opened and out walked the President with his wife, Mary Todd, and several other big name politicians if the time. Strolling over, he had a short but pleasant chat with the man wildly regarded as the best Chief Executive Officer in the nation's history. Of course, this ended with Ben telling him that, while he was certainly _good, _he (Ben) would ultimately be better suited at running the country. He went on to demand that Lincoln and the houses relinquish control of the nation effective immediately, or suffer _swift _and _immediate _consequences.

So, an ensuing scuffle here, a display of power there, and a few dropped breadcrumbs elsewhere later, and here he was. Why here specifically was a mystery to all of the military types below, their superiors in Washington, and even to the Emperor himself…

"_Wait…" _He said under his breath, stroking his brown beard. Snapping his fingers in remembrance, he said aloud, "Because Tennessee sounds a lot like Tennyson!"

Indeed, that _was _the only deciding factor as to why he decided to come to this state after his visit to D.C. If he truly wanted to stash and hold-up his prisoners somewhere that the remaining powers at be would never find him or them, he could have gone all the way to the Outback, the Amazon, or either of the two poles. Back in his day on his own earth, the odds of being found were slim, so he imagined what the chances were in the mid eighteen sixties.

But then…he _wanted _people to know where he was and be able to get (relatively) easy access to said place. He _wanted _the remaining powers at be to send an army after their abducted leaders (hence the bothering of putting down breadcrumbs at all). After all, without a sizable audience, a sizable _military _minded audience for what was soon to happen, the rest of the country might still have it in their little heads that taking up arms against him would be in their best interests (or worse yet, possible). Word of mouth was very popular in this era you know.

Why Lookout Mountain, to be even more specific?

Well, during the summer in which he received his first omnitrix, he, Grandpa Max, and Gwen made a stop there. It was a mostly typical stop without him needing to transform into anything to stop anything, though he did transform into Grey Matter to try and…spruce up the rather lackluster (read: _boring_) automated presentation there in the fort turned museum (much to the expected chagrin of his cousin, who found it serviceable before his meddlings). Aside from that though…it was nice. In fact, he even remembered a few facts of the Battle of Chattanooga before absorbing the power of Dagon gave his mind unprecedented clarity and greatly enhanced capacity (though he'd never admit to such a thing back then). The term "Battle Above the Clouds" stuck out the most. That, plus, well, he very much liked the way Lookout Mountain sounded. In all likelihood, he would make the planetary Viceroy's mansion in it because of this as well as rename the entire state to his last name or some combination of it and the state's previous name. Tenneseon had a nice ring to it (even if he knew how everyone, even the members of his family (sons included) would cringe at the name).

So, here he was. From what he could see (as well as the minds he had read), the army was setting up their big guns in preparation for a bombardment meant to soften up the perceived enemy force that had taken up residence in the fort atop the mountain. This had far more than a kernel in truth located within the fact that, technically, the Emperor wasin and of himself, an army. For, populating the fort on Lookout Mountain, was indeed an army separate from Be. An army that he had willed into existence and that was poised to strike in a manner that would take the army below by surprise (though, admittedly, the stratagem would not take them as nearly by surprise as what he had comprising the army). An army that, with an unspoken command, decided to attack the very moment the final artillery piece was in place.

Like dozens of thunderclaps in staccato, about a hundred or so giant avians greatly resembling Condors took off from the fort, cawing out war cries as they quickly descended upon the valley. To say the men below were shocked and surprised at this turn of events would not begin to describe the looks etched unto their faces as though by hammer and chisel. Clouds of acrid white smoke belched forth from their muskets and rifles in panicked volleys as the soldiers tried to shoot down what some of the more versed in _Indian _culture of their number were correctly identifying as _Thunderbirds. _So expediently unexpected was the attack though that, when combined with the inaccuracy of the guns (made no better by the steadily growing haze that they had produced when fired previously) and the panicking men and horses, that the army was unable to successfully fend off the attacking flock. Even if the majority of their volleys found their mark (which they didn't), the Thunderbirds were so tough that even the Minié balls that were being propelled through the air would have been shrugged off with little effort.

Within a grand total of one minute, the majority of the army's guns that required a crew to operate and couldn't be held in a man's hands (the average man, that is) were taken out of commission in various ways by the mythic sized birds. Some grabbed a hold of horses, rocks, men, mules, and even whole trees and hurled these things at the artillery pieces and their crew. Some decided to keep their distance and instead used their cawing, a powerful and natural sonic weapon, to cause either their crews to run away screaming (clutching their bleeding ears and throbbing heads) or their stockpiles to detonate into enormous bouts of fire and used gunpowder. Sometimes both. Still, others went with the less exciting, but still nonetheless viable, option of lifting up the artillery and hurling them wildly somewhere else (on top of large crowds of rallying (read: retreating) blue and grey coats, for example).

The Thunderbirds however, were not fortunate enough to prevent some of the crews from actually getting a shot off (or two). Though the majority of them were wildly off target (which had less to do with the general sense of panic and disarray the birds were causing than one might think and more so with how the unexpected breeze was effecting the not-as-aerodynamic-as-they-could-be bombs and shells), several had actually managed to hit the fort and take out a few members of the Emperor's own force on the ground. A few more had actually managed to zero in on him by some stroke of fate (as he was invisible to the naked human eye) and he found himself pulling Ascalon from the earth and swatting them aside to detonate elsewhere. This however, left him open to three more that detonated right atop his head. Though the taydenite of his helmet did its job flawlessly, the ground beneath him buckled under the force and he found himself tumbling down the face of the mountain for a brief instant before he willed himself to float.

Wiping the dust and torn grass from his armor, he said, "Not bad for a few lucky shots." Looking back down towards the valley, he added, "I wonder if you'll be as lucky against the second and third waves."

With another unseen command, the army residing in the fort descended down the mountain, guttural howls signaling their approach to the beleaguered men below. This force was of large, white furred monstrosities that looked like some cross between zombified bear and ape with antler horns and long snouts and normal looking men who took the form of various animals (mostly wolves) mid-stride. This army of wendigoes and skinwalkers, numbering some three thousand strong, collided with the human one below about five minutes later, with anticipated results that the Emperor did not desire to get into the details of.

Though they were sustaining significantly heavier losses than their allies in the sky, (what with being on the ground and, in some cases, being regular animals), the earth bound of Ben's impromptu force broke up any attempt by the commanding officers of the enemy force to rally troops and quickly began to push the largest packet of resistance back towards the Tennessee River (all other pockets heading for elsewhere). There, he supposed that the leaders of the pocket intended to find refuge aboard the ships anchored at port and under the support of their cannons.

This was a very, _very _grave miscalculation on their parts. Though, to be fair, he wouldn't have known as much if he were in their shoes. After all, who in their right minds in this time period would have foreseen hundred of aquatic panthers with either the horns of deer or bison adorning their heads, bird feathers, and upright, fish-like scales on their backs, jumping out of the water and onto the decks of the docked Sloops of War and Ironclads. Who would have foreseen what these Mishipeshu did to the crews stationed aboard them? Who would have foreseen that the packet would wind up between a rock and a hard place in a classic pincer movement? Who would have foreseen that, on this day, the town of Chattanooga would be painted much brighter colors in certain spots, courtesy of the military?

The majority of the opposing troops dealt with, the Mishipeshu dived back into the river, the wendigoes and skinwalkers slowly marching back towards the fort (terrified eyes peeping at them from the windows of buildings) while the Thunderbirds circled around in a cluster so tight as to cast shadows over the remaining and retreating American forces under the early morning sun. The Emperor bid these men escape and, as he phased through tons of solid stone on his way to the bunker he built at the center of the mountain to hold his captives, he stroked his auburn beard in thought and looked towards the sky.

He briefly wondered how his five eldest sons (Max, Kevin, Carly, Yuri, and Keone), who had accompanied him on this trip, fared in the four nearest Universes he had decided to let them try their hands at conquering, but soon enough, ceased his worries. He told himself that they were fine Princes and would do well where they had decided to visit. If anything, if he was anything like his old man, he worried how young Ben junior was handling the boredom that came with his esteemed post back in his home Universe. He imagined the over-dramatized mirth on his young face that was no doubt exactly how he would have looked like back then and despite himself, smiled.

Rematerializing before the captive crowd, he whistled _Dixieland _and _When Johnny Comes Marching Home _at once.


	5. Chapter 4

Not a single light was on within Avenger's Mansion when Ms. Marvel swooped right over its gates and landed at the top of the steps leading to the front doors. Though she thought this on, nevertheless, she pushed them aside, and walked through the various corridors that needed to be traversed in order to arrive at the living room.

She was expecting said room to be empty, but found it inhabited instead. Not by its usual occupants of Wasp, Hawkeye, the Hulk, or even the Black Panther (occasionally) though. Rather, a young boy, who looked to be about ten years old or some other, similar age, was sitting on the couch there that was facing the television (as well as the secret entrance to the more obviously super heroic parts of the mansion), absentmindedly munching out of a bag of chips seated right next to him with one hand and channel flipping even more absentmindedly with a remote in the other. Despite the fact that she had never before seen the kid in her life, much less around the premises, he had his feet up on the coffee table like he owned the place.

"Uhhh…" He complained. "Five hundred channels in this joint, and nothing to watch. Nothing could be more ironic if I had a pair of magic fairies floating around me day and night that could do anything I wished them to do…except everything listed in a giant book of rules thick enough to club a Pantophagian to death."

For several moments, Ms. Marvel just stood there, in the threshold between the hallway and the living room, staring at the boy with a scrunched up look that easily spelled out surprise and confusion to even a casual passerby. Soon getting over it with the weight of why she was here instead of in space at her day job at S.W.O.R.D., she spoke out, "Hey kid! Just what on earth are you doing here?"

The boy didn't turn his head. Nor role his eyes to their rightmost corner in order to look at her. Nor did he blink. Nor did he give any sign of any sort that he had acknowledged her presence, save for a slight smirk creeping up his face and light snickering as though some private in-joke had been uttered.

"Nothin'." He said calmly. "Just trying to see if this tube of yours has anything good on it at present. An uphill battle, to be sure."

Taken aback by the snappiness of this comment, Ms. Marvel replied, "Yeah well, it's not okay to just walk into people's homes, eat their food, use their stuff, and ESPECIALY put your feet on their coffee tables. Didn't your mommy ever teach you some manners?"

The boy snickered lightly again. "Among other things, yes. The rest of my family too."

"Good." She said curtly. "Now get up and out of here before I decide to haul you off to them and tell them about this. I've got some important business to take care of with the other Avenge—"

"—No you don't." The boy interrupted, suppressing a yawn. "That distress call you received urging you to get you and that leotard of yours down planetside A.S.A.P., _alone,_ was a fabrication created by yours truly."

Ms. Marvel's brow knitted together. "Um, _excuse_ me?"

"Tell me something Ms. Danvers: how does it feel to be as stupid as you? I mean, though I have not gone through my life completely without the occasional lapse in intelligence, I've always wondered how possessing your levels of sheer _dumb_ would be like."

For a while, Ms. Marvel stood frozen in place, jaw dropped at this (supposed) revelation (she had her doubts) and insult. After a while though, anger took the place of whatever emotion(s) she was feeling at this. Her eyes flickered briefly with the glow of cosmic power.

"Okay! That. Is. **IT**!" She yelled out in an obvious attempt at intimidation. "Now scram before I—"

She did not have the opportunity to finish. At the moment, so irately transfixed was she on the boy in front of her that she failed to notice a shadow descend upon her until it was too late. By then, she saw a pair of hands, yellow and green as well as translucent and ethereal, sticking out of her chest and could only utter, in confusion, as well as dawning realization, "Not again…" She then passed out and dropped to the floor like a sack of cinderblocks.

Back in the world of the awake, the boy said to The Vision, "Good work my robotic minion. Now, take your fellow super dweeb to the containment cells and, when you're done, head over to the Zoo and see if you can't find me this list of ingredients here." Throwing a paper airplane previously lying on the coffee table towards him, the Vision caught it in one hand and said, "Yes my Sovereign" before draping the human-kree hybrid over his mechanical shoulders and phase-shifting through the floorboards with her in tow.

Content that his orders were given and being executed as he sat, Prince Ben changed the channel one more time.

_"It's time to DU-DU-DU-DUDUDUDUDUEEEEEELLLLL!"_

Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "Eh, it's not Sumo-Slammers or even Kangaroo Commando, but it'll do."

10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10

Do you know what it's like? How it feels? Have you ever hid beneath your bed when you were younger? Do you remember having a lot of space to maneuver your body in? Do you remember how, the older you got, the more cramped it got beneath your bed until, eventually, you'd have to choke on carpet in order to even get under the darned thing in the first place, much less move around? Well, that's sort of what being trapped inside a suit of powerless powered armor is like. That's also how Tony Stark felt at the present.

Well…not quite. You see, at least when you're too old to move about under your bed, you can still decide to do the smart thing, up and leave the place, and grow up.

No.

Tony felt more like he was inside a highly expensive, highly durable, highly technologically advanced, coffin. Zombie, Vampire, or over the top Martial Arts revenge flicks aside, you _don't_ get to leave a coffin.

Still, a regular coffin had at least the decency to be a bit roomier and allow for _some _freedom of movement if you were ever unlucky enough to awake inside one. Without any energy flowing into it, the Mark IX, in all of its protective glory, was little more than a coffin of the form-fitting variety for whoever was unlucky enough to be trapped inside.

Now, lying with his back against the ground and as immobile as he had ever been in his life, Tony Stark wished that he had stayed asleep. At the very least, it would have prevented him from panicking as he did for the first several moments upon realizing his rather unsavory predicament and saved him precious oxygen that he could not afford to waste as he managed to.

Now though, he had calmed down somewhat and was trying to remain that way, taking sloq, steady breaths. Quickly, he came to grips with the fact that, yes, he was trapped. No doubt about it. He could not budge even an inch, nor bring forth his heads-up display, nor contact anyone. He could barely even make out the interior of his armor's faceplate not a centimeter in front of him.

But that was fine. That was okay, he told himself so as not to freak out as he had done earlier. This wasn't the first time his suit had proven to be such a liability. Granted, back when the Avengers had first fought The Enchantress and The Executioner or when the Skrull Queen had hacked his armor, he still had SOME power in the former situation and his faceplate was raised in the latter, but he was fine now. Okay. Really.

He recalled a meditation lesson that the Black Panther had once tried to teach him, but that he was too busy to stay for due to his usual business. Before, it was a vague and far off memory. But here, stuck, with almost total sensory deprivation and air that was starting to get stale, he remembered everything he could about it and tried his best to utilize what little the Panther had managed to impart upon him.

His breathing slowed to a crawl, and a happy memory of the past filled his vision as he closed his eyes.

10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10-10

Faster than she had ever flown before, than she had ever thought it was possible for her to fly, Wasp flew towards the fiery remains of the restaurant and dropped next to them with a thud. Her landing may not have been as soft as usual, and she may have stumbled a bit because of that, but nothing stopped her from running towards the wreckage, kneeling, and frantically trying to displace the rubble out of her way.

"Hank! Hank!" She yelled out. "Please be okay! Please! Tell me you're okay!"

She fought back the trail of tears that were now cascading freely down her cheeks like miniature cataracts and tried to focus her energy into digging, into shoving away the pile of stone and steel that she was sure now stood atop her comrades, her friends, as burial markers. Burial markers for Prince T'Chala and Hank Pym. _Her _Hank.

Her excavation intensified until the term _digging_ no longer applied to such frantic desperation, and clawing was more apt.

On the opposite side of the street behind her, a small crowd had formed. Some looked on in abject horror at the sight that greeted them, being for a superficial reason not limited to the restaurant being the best Greek one this side of Philadelphia or a more altruistic one not limited to the highly probable loss of life they had just witnessed.

Two amongst these onlookers crossed the street. One was African America sporting a moustache with short-cropped hair, a jersey that read: _Phillies # 39 _in basketball shorts and tennis shoes. The other looked to be of Italian American descent with a black fedora, matching leather jacket, shirt, and jeans, as well as a sizable nose and chin. Both were in their late teens and the former held a basketball in his hand.

It was the latter though, who spoke first. "Yo…uh…miss? You'z ain't cryin' cuz of a couple'uh clow—"

The Wasp turned her head back on him, eyes alive and burning lividly as her tears made her mascara run like steel blue ink. At her clenched fist, the radiant glow of charging bio-energy could be seen.

"—errr…uh…_costumed _crime fightin' gentlemen, who I'm sure were…errr…_are _a couple of good guys, are you'z?" He said with a very thick inner Philadelphia accent.

The Wasp responded by merely staring into his soul. As the guy looked around, scratching his head uncomfortably, the other teen got in between him and Janet and said, "What I think my verbally, linguistically, and downright mentally challenged friend here is tryin' to say, Ms. Van Dyne, is that your buddies, Black Panther and Yellow Jacket are a'ight." He said in a smooth, suave, and educated manner that surprisingly would not give away that he was from west Philly, born and raised.

Quickly enough that, if it were a roller coaster, one would most assuredly acquire whiplash, The Wasp's face brightened up with hope. "Really?"

"Yep. I was beatin' this here punk in some b-ball outside of our school—" Said the jacket wearing teen.

"—man, no you _wasn't_." Interrupted the jersey wearing teen.

"—when we heard the big badda boom, ran on over here, and saw that rich boy in a tin suit from New York, what's his face—"

"—Iron Man dawg!" Interrupted the jersey wearing teen, disbelieving at his friend's forgetfulness.

"Yeah. When we saw Iron Man flyin' in the sky with them over his shoulder like big adult sized babies."

Faster than a certain mutant speedster, The Wasp was upon them as her usually giddy self, and wrapped them up in a giant, spine-crushing hug.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She proclaimed before giving each of them a peck on the cheeks. Letting them go, she asked, "Which way did they go?"

As they cracked their backs, the jersey wearer said, "I think they were headed over that way," while pointing at a certain direction in the sky.

Without another word, The Wasp took off in said direction and waved good-bye at the two helpful teens. They stood there, looking on until she was just a speck on the horizon, when the jacketed one said, "Yo, you think Adrian would make a good superhero?"

"Man! That honey'd be lucky enough to get a job running a pet store with how much of a pushover she is!"

"Hey! Don't you go insultin' my girl now, or I'll show you some moves Mic taught me!"

"Oh, like those moves you _thought_ you showed me on the court?"

"Best two out of three?"

"You bettin'?"

"Five bucks. You?"

"Ten."

As the two hustled back to their basketball session, in the skies above, Janet was busy scanning for her comrades and their captor when, suddenly, she could make out the cerulean repulsor trail of the rogue suit on the horizon. She mustered up the strength in her wings to attempt a pursuit. However, she found that, even with this added burst of speed, equivalent to the one she had put on earlier back when she thought T'Challa and Hank were…well…let's just say that the armor was too far ahead of her and was moving too quickly for her to have any chance of catching up to without some kind of help…

Since a Quinjet wasn't in this picture, the Norse God of Thunder would make a fine substitute, she mused. After spending a few seconds looking about however, she scratched her head furiously as she tried to remember where it was precisely that those other armors had whisked him off to, and then remembered, much to her frustration, that she didn't know.

It was then, as she decided that she should just follow the escaping armor by herself and deal with the most assuredly extremely life-threatening consequences later, when a rather obvious hint as to the Asgardian Prince's whereabouts sounded. Several bolts of lightning descended from the distant heavens and seemed to coalesce at a point on the ground within a forested area not too far outside of the city. A point where an ancient echo of days long past, of days now scribed as history, was heard booming across Philadelphia as though one massive clap of thunder had done off at street level. A Viking's cry. A true warrior's cry.

Obvious.

The Wasp didn't need to be told twice and flew over to this area, wings beating hundreds of times a minute. Looking down when she finally hovered above it, she saw the rather curious sight of Thor, bellowing out while he held aloft his enchanted mallet which, of course, was where the lightning bolts were striking. He stood upon a small hill that overlooked what appeared to be a recently logged down portion of the forest. Upon further inspection though, she found all six of the armors that had forced Thor to make his sudden exit from the restaurant lying in scrapped heaps amidst the stumps and timbered trees. They were dented, dismembered, sparking, and utterly destroyed with each one bearing tears that were gouged by some extreme force and the heads of some caved in like crumpled up soda cans.

It didn't take a super genius that owned the top floors of the Baxter building to see how the forest had become so thinned.

Landing on the hill behind him, The Wasp yelled out, "Thor! Hey! I'm talking to you ya big blond butt kicker!" to attempt and gain his attention. When she realized that her voice wasn't carrying over the sounds of the lighting and his _epic_ shouting, she pouted her lip and opted to blast him in the back of his head with a bolt of bioenergy fired from her pinky. The lightning stopped suddenly, and so did his gaping mouth.

Glad that she finally got his attention, The Wasp said, "Good. Now then—"

Before she could finish that sentence, the Asgardian Prince swiveled around, a wild look in his bloodshot eyes and dirt caked face that spoke not merely of rage, but of a berserker's rage. He raised his hammer above his head and was prepared to bare it down upon her as the Wasp's eyes narrowed to pinpricks. He was halfway through the arc when the scream of, "It's me Janet!" registered in his addled mind. Like a machine, he ceased his swing, a whoosh of air powerful enough to dry out the remnants of her earlier sobbing striking her face in mjolnir's stead.

The look in his eyes softened, becoming more civil, and he exhaled heavily. "Ah. Ms. Van Dyne. I am glad to see that you are no worse for wear in light of this most recent attack."

It was then that like a mighty oak, for which he was also a god of, Thor started to stumble forward, eyes half glazed over. Prior to hitting the ground, The Wasp grabbed caught a hold of him and said, "Whoa there big guy. I don't think you can say the same thing for yourself."

"You are correct Janet." He said out of breath. "But still, I stand while those wretched machinations lay scattered about the earth. And I do so with only my fists, feet, skill, and guile were used as my hammer, while mjolnir was not so much as touched by mine hand until after I was victorious."

"Yeah. _Barely _won, by the looks of it." The Wasp snorted, before something he had said caught her attention. "Wait…you mean…you beat ALL six of those armors Tony made…by yourself…WITHOUT using that mighty magic mallet of yours?"

"Aye. I took the hulk's words at the mansion to heart and combated them while not using my hammer once." He winced.

"Ah. So, how'd that work out for you?"

"Well, I remember the flash of repulsor beams, and missiles, and unibeams, and tackles, but mostly, the unibeams."

"_Especially_ looks more like it." The Wasp said, as she noticed that his body was covered in cuts and bruises, and not the good kind either. "Any other day, I'd say _good for you _and _go Thor _but we kinda need to get going somewhere quick, and, no offense, but you look like you can barely stand. Heck, _I'm _the one holding _you _up!"

"I am…fine…I assure you. You merely gaze upon the price paid for relying on my father's gift too readily without sufficient…practice…" He said, as he gingerly freed himself from her hold, almost stumbling again before right himself and holding up a hand to a worried looking Wasp. "Where is it that we need to go again?" He said, massaging his temples beneath his winged helmet.

**_A Word From the Auhthor:_**

**Sorry it took so long to update and that this update is so short and lacking in the pulse pounding action that many of you were expecting, especially with everyone's favorite Asgardian Prince. Forgive me for not writing out that battle but, if the big chaotic fight scene that took place on Stryker's Island in ****_Premier _****taught me anything, it's that, sometimes fights are even more epic to the reader when the writer just hints at what went down by showing the outcome and leaving the actual fighting mechanics to the reader. **

**Also, forgive me for not having Ben Junior really take direct action with his omnitrix or other abilities as of yet except for that one scene two chapters back in a darn Ben 10 crossover. Believe me, things are heating up and it's building up to that moment when he decides that ****_It's Prince Time _****and squares off against the team (and when it does, I myself would be surprised if New York City is left standing). **

**But for now, I'm trying to emphasize that while he is indeed very much like his father, his upbringing raised him to be pragmatic and genre savvy (dangerously so) to a degree where his powers either aren't COMPLETELY necessary (though they do help quite a bit) or can be used sparingly for great effect for him to take down opponents (especially ones that provided such an easy source for him to pick off the rest of the Avengers like Tony did back when he possessed his suit as upgrade).**

**As always, any question, comments, and etc are welcome and duly appreciated (assuming of course, that they are worded correctly and not intended to inflame me, after all).**

**Until next time, so long, farewell, and Auf Weidershen (I think I spelled that right) goodnight!**

**P.S. To those of you who were rolling your eyes at the rather hamfisted references to The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air and Rocky I made this chapter, I ask you this: how could I not? I mean, REALLY!? Every story in the history of ever that has EVER had Philadelphia as a setting is OBLIGATED to reference BOTH of those things, no ifs, ands, or buts about it! I mean, how could I resist!? How could I NOT!? **


End file.
